


"It's coffee." "No, it's not."

by boredsince1894



Series: Well, it started off with coffee, and then this just sort of...happened. [1]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: AU, Coffee, First Meeting, Idk guys come on, M/M, because of course there's coffee, it's torchwood after all, janto, teen and up for swearing and innuendos???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 11:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4827380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boredsince1894/pseuds/boredsince1894
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Rift's been inactive for a few days, and Jack's sick and tired of being cooped up in the Hub. After actually bothering to get out and get food for the Torchwood team, he walks into more than he bargained for. Namely, Ianto Jones.</p><p>An AU first meeting, set before Everything Changes.  Lisa, unfortunately, can't exist and does not exist in this AU. I feel really terrible about that, but it had to be done for the story's sake. Sorry, Lisa.</p><p>This is my first ever posted fanfic, so feedback is greatly appreciated!</p>
            </blockquote>





	"It's coffee." "No, it's not."

          Things were quiet at the Hub, to say the least. Any sound of productive typing or clicking coming from Tosh’s general direction had ceased over half an hour ago. Suzie was hunching over an alien artifact that they had deemed useless weeks ago, absentmindedly turning it over in her hands as if she’d discover something they had missed. Owen was continuously chucking a rubber ball against the wall closest to him, the ball nearly knocking a monitor off of his desk on its return trip more than once. Jack could’ve told him to stop messing around, but he decided long ago that he preferred practically any noise over Owen’s moaning about being bored, tired, etc. etc.  


          And it was only six o’clock.  


          Lifting his feet off his desk, Jack grabbed his greatcoat and made his way down into the center of the Hub. “Looks like it’s gonna be a hell of a long night, team,” Jack said, pulling on his coat. “I’ll go grab some sandwiches. My treat. Special orders?”  


          Everyone looked slightly shocked by the idea of Jack actually offering to leave his pedestal to get them sandwiches—normal, everyday sandwiches—but no one was about to object and offer to get any themselves. After getting everyone’s order, Jack stepped onto the lift without another word from him or anyone else. Jack wasn’t surprised that no one had offered to come and help carry the food—though, he wasn’t exactly upset about it either; relieved, more like. Truth be told, he had an ulterior motive. (You’re shocked, aren’t you?) He’d spent too much time in the Hub the past few days, ever since the Rift had become so quiet. And when you sleep in such a place…well, it can start to get a little suffocating. Not literally, of course, though Jack could have painted a pretty vivid picture of what that felt like, too.  


          Reaching the closest, most edible fast food restaurant, Jack pushed through the doors. Plastering on a particularly charming smile, he somehow managed to get his order faster than the three people who had been in line before him. Ah, the perks of being a 51st century man in a 21st century world.  


          With four bags clasped in one hand, a drink in the other, and three more drinks trapped between an arm and his chest, Jack was hardly paying attention to what was going on behind him. Which might explain why, when he turned around, he knocked right into the man standing there.  


          Drinks coming dangerously close to spilling, Jack lurched backwards in a very un-charismatic, un-Jack-like manner.  


          “Hey, watch where you’re standing—” He cut himself short after blinking several times, his eyes allowing the man in front of him to come into focus. A miffed expression was set on the young man’s face. His pale skin was hidden away behind a cold black jacket, a studded belt, and a pair of dark jeans (which fit him very nicely, Jack decided, as his gaze wandered over the young man’s thighs). Raking his eyes back up the stranger’s body, Jack thought that the tough exterior was almost laughable when set against such a youthful, pure-looking face. Still, the contrast was pretty cute.  


          “Sorry about that,” Jack said in quite a different tone. A leer began to spread across his face. The young man blushed as he looked out at Jack, his eyes widening slightly as he too took in the man before him.  


          “Yes, well,” the man blurted out, his eyes darting away from Jack’s. “Like you said. Watch where you’re standing.” He cleared his throat and made to sidestep his way around Jack, but Jack was already pushing a hand out to stop him, having dropped the discarded sandwich bags and drinks onto a nearby table.  


          “Seriously, I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you.” Smiling, he turned and placed himself so he was shoulder to shoulder with the young man. Unknowingly, they had begun to drift away from the line and more towards the table that Torchwood’s long-forgotten meals were reserving. It was just as well; Jack wanted space to chat to this pretty young man without worrying about impatient comments from the other customers.  


          He gazed up at the menu, then back at the man. His smile was starting to look positively dangerous. “Whatever your meal of choice is, whatever you want, it’s on me.” The young man gaped for a moment before quickly shutting his mouth.  


          “Do you usually bang into complete strangers and offer to buy their dinner?”  


          “No, actually. Dinner usually comes first; the banging happens later on. But either one works for me. I’m not picky.”  


          If the man had gotten around to getting something to eat or drink yet, he would have choked on whatever it was he ordered.  


          “Well…I…that’s…that’s probably harmful to their digestive systems.” Blushing, he made to sidestep Jack again and reclaim his spot in line, but Jack placed a kind (but firm) hand on his shoulder, stopping him. The man glanced at Jack’s hand, then up into his face; he looked close to petrified.  


          Yup. It was definitely cute.  


          “Please,” said Jack, “at least let me buy you…whatever it is you’re getting. I owe you that, after bumping into you so rudely.”  


          “And let’s not forget the blatant innuendo.”  


          A mock-outraged look replaced Jack’s grin for a moment.  


          “Me? Making innuendos? I’m shocked and a bit offended that you’d accuse me of such a thing. After all,” he murmured, the grin slowly taking its place again, “We’ve only just met, Mr.—?”  


          “Uh, Jones. Ianto Jones.”  


          “Nice to meet you, Jones Ianto Jones. Captain Jack Harkness. Now are you going to let me make up my clumsiness to you? Or are we just gonna stand around looking like a couple of schmucks ’til closing time?”  


          A tiny smile flashed across Ianto’s lips for a brief moment. He tried to hide it—desperately, he tried—but Jack was very observant. Too observant for Ianto to pretend any longer.  


          “Coffee.”  


          Jack raised his eyebrows. “Sorry?”  


          “Coffee,” Ianto repeated blankly. “That’s what I’m here for. My machine broke down and I haven’t the money for a new one yet. If I’m given enough supplies, I can make the coffee here just bearable. It’s one of the few places near my flat that’s even up to that standard.” Jack couldn’t help but laugh at this man, practically proclaiming himself to be a coffee wizard.  


          “You’ll have to let me test these special abilities of yours sometime, if you’re that confident in them.” Another small grin flashed across Ianto’s mouth; it was gone in a second, but the spirit of it lingered in his eyes.  


          A firm—and rather mischievous—“Get me a large number three” from Ianto was all it took to have Jack quickly striding back into the line. A few minutes later, Jack returned with the coffee cup in hand. Ianto smiled.  


          “Take a sip.”  


          Again, Jack couldn’t help but be caught off-guard. “I’m sorry, what?”  


          “Take a sip,” Ianto repeated in that same even tone. “I want you to be able to compare the before and after tastes.” Jack couldn't help but stare for a moment. This was moving along better than he had expected from their first few sentences, and he had to admit, he was rather thrilled about that. He drank a bit and placed the cup back into Ianto’s hand; he may or may not have ensured that their fingers brushed. It was clumsy. It was brief. But it was contact.  


          “It’s coffee,” he said, shrugging. Ianto smiled again; Jack wasn’t quite sure, but he thought he was starting to detect more and more hints of his own sort of smiles within each of Ianto’s.  


          “No, it’s not,” the young man stated. And with one more playful glance, he was off to the table that held the different types of cream, sugar, etc. Jack seated himself down at the table (their table—the one still holding the remedy to a starving Torchwood team) and stared as Ianto leaned intently over the average ingredients, wondering what he could possibly be doing for a minute—two minutes—nearly three minutes—that was so groundbreaking.  


          Finally, he returned, a triumphant look on his boyish face.  


          “This,” Ianto said, sitting down opposite Jack and placing the cup in from of him, “is coffee.”  


          Eyeing the man across him suspiciously, Jack reached out and took a wary sip. A second later, his eyes bulged out.  


          “How did you do that?!” he practically demanded. The confusing yet attractive clash of the bad-boy look with the innocent face was weird enough. Now, after tasting that coffee, Jack knew: this incredible man was going to keep on surprising him. And, whether he admitted it to himself or not, he was starting to feel that he’d never get tired of Ianto Jones constantly keeping him on his toes. Ianto smiled proudly, if a little sheepishly. “Come on,” pleaded Jack. “I’ve got to know.”  


          “It’s my secret. And if you think that’s impressive, you ought to have the coffee I make when my bloody machine is working.” Ianto’s smile changed to a look of horror after realizing how blunt that must’ve sounded. “Oh, Christ. I didn’t mean—that wasn’t supposed to be—”  


          “I’m looking forward to it,” Jack said assuredly. The last thing he wanted to do now, after so much progress, was scare this man off. Ianto visibly relaxed, just a little; his shoulders sank, but a blush was still there. His eyes flickered away. At first, Jack thought it was due to more shyness creeping in, but as he let himself look in the same direction, he realized.  


          “Shit, the sandwiches—the team. You’re very good at distracting me, Ianto Jones.” Ianto’s face flushed once more.  


          “It’s probably the coffee.”  


          Jack grinned. “Which I intend to have more of.” Fishing a pen out of his pocket, he grabbed a napkin and wrote down his number. Pushing it towards the young man, another leer began to creep up on Jack’s face; he simply couldn’t help it. “Unfortunately, I’ve got a room full of starving staff to get back to, and let me tell you, they get whiny when they’re hungry. But when that machine of yours is fixed, I expect an invitation. And I expect something amazing out of it.”  


          Ianto smirked, relieved that Jack was anything but put off by that slightly reckless invitation. He couldn’t help himself now; the confidence was there, seeping in.  


          “I thought that was guaranteed.”  


          Jack fixed his eyes on Ianto’s. There was something in that Welsh voice, something in that promise that he couldn’t help but hope for, because, at this point, he was sure he wasn’t just imagining—begging—for it. The grin never leaving his face, he stood up and playfully saluted Ianto before grabbing the bags and drinks.  


          “See you around, Ianto Jones.”  


          “See you…Jack.”  


          And with one last look, Jack walked out. To hell with the swears and empty threats that were probably pouring out of Owen’s mouth at that moment as Jack strolled back to the Hub. It was nearing half past seven now. The sun was fading, but, somehow, the taste of delicious coffee still managed to linger on his tongue. He considered forgoing his sandwich and drink, just to keep it there a little while longer. It was a comfort, knowing that that taste was an invitation of more to come. Someone to look forward to.


End file.
